Sleeping
by AshleytheWolfe
Summary: While helping Harry clear out the attic of Grimmald Place, an accident leaves Hermione in an enchanted sleep that can only be broken by true love's kiss.
1. Chapter 1

Hello and thank you for taking the time to read this. I have no beta, so all mistakes are my own… if I have misspelled things, please let me know. Reviews are welcomed, but not required.

Enjoy

::Disclaimer:: Harry Potter is the intellectual property of JK Rowling, this fanfiction is not for profit.

**Sleeping : Chapter 1**

This really couldn't be happening.

One would think seven years of danger, intrigue, wounds, scars, and enough real-life experiences to fuel nightmares for the rest of their lives would award the survivors a sure of peace; a reprieve even.

It seemed not.

What good was he, 'savior' of the world as they knew it – wizard and muggle – if he couldn't save her. Harry hadn't felt so very helpless since walking into the clearing to confront what he _knew _was his death; at least then he had had a **plan, **a **purpose**. This… made no sense. NONE.

And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

They had been staying at Grimwald Place since sitting their NEWTS. Hogwarts was still under repair and though Hermione had been a great asset to effort, she had felt the need to rest her mind, collect her thoughts, and attempt to salvage her relationship; at least, that is what she told Harry. He personally suspected that she had done all the work she could do and that the actual repairs would have to catch up before she could continue, and as he was wanting to start clearing things out and making the place _his_… It had seemed a wonderful idea to have all his friends around to help and spend time together before the real world and their futures interfered.

After all, they had not really had time to be children. He hoped, fervently even, that they would have time to be young adults.

All had gone well for a time, even with Ron and Hermione fighting and making up every other day. As much as Harry thought their pairing was convenient as far as family relations went, it had him in an awkward position. Being best-friends with BOTH of them had them both expecting him to side with them during their disagreements – which were plenty and varied greatly, some were even downright stupid (in his opinion). Mostly, he just wanted left out of it.

They had been sorting through chests and boxes in the attic. Hermione had a habit of looking through any book she found so long as it had a title or an author she did not recognize, which seemed to be annoying Ron to no end. Harry wondered what Ron had expected, if the Ginger had stumbled across a chest full of old Quiddich memorabilia, he would be just as distracted and probably more annoying about it. Ron muttered something about having to check the boxes and chests for books before letting Hermione sort them; otherwise she would be of no use at all.

Harry rolled his eyes and glanced at his female friend. Sure enough, she was engrossed in a particularly old – and large – book. He half wondered how it had fit in the chest to begin with, the other half wondering how she had been able to lift it; honestly, the book was as tall as she was. (His subconscious, very aware of his half-thought process, was looking at him strangely and flashing 'Magic' at him; which really, did seem to explain any question he may have about most anything.)

Ron continued to mutter, sorting through his box loudly. Harry thought he may have heard something break and shook his head. The red head was going to have to learn some self-control, anger management, or SOMETHING; Harry just hoped it wouldn't be after something valuable or important became useless. He had just returned his attention to his own task when he heard an excited or happy gasp from Ron.

"What is it?" He asked, looking up. Ron smiled brightly, holding a dusty Quaffle with a golden signature on it.

"The signature is a bit hard to make out, but if it is who I think it is…" He said, his eyes alight. "This could be worth a mint!" He was practically bouncing. "Mione! See what I found!"

She didn't look up from the book. "That's nice Ronald."

Ron's face flushed and his ears turned pink. Harry knew this to be a **very** bad sign. "Hey Mate, at least she knew you were talking to you. Half the time she doesn't acknowledge me when there is an open book around." Which was, actually, true.

Ron didn't respond, just kept staring at the ball in his hand. Harry shrugged; he had done all he could do. Sure, they would probably fight about this for the next couple days, but that had become the norm. He thought it was sad that he had gotten to the point when he was unmoved by the damaged egos or feelings they seemed to be consistently causing each other. Maybe if they were still just friends, not significant others, he would be able to intervene; talk some sense into the two of them. He was well aware that if he tried now, it could ruin his friendship with one or both of them.

He wondered idly how any of them thought the two of them would be a good idea. Maybe it was just one of those things that sound good until you really think about it. Like deep-friend gummy bears; could be amazing OR could just turn out to be burnt sugar. Next thing Harry knew, Ron made a frustrated sound – one Harry was sure he had never heard another person make and therefore couldn't say for sure what type of sound it was – and threw the Quaffle.

Time seemed to slow down from there.

In the time it took Harry's mind to go through a process that resembled '?, !, ?!, and Oh, no he did not just', the Quaffle connected with Hermione's head, knocking her **into** the chest she had been searching. She gasped, likely in pain, and drew hand out of the container. Blood was dripping from her finger. From that point, Harry could not say **what **exactly happened.

Hermione was swaying on her feet, Ron was making apologies or excuses – which she either did not hear or was not acknowledging. She placed her bleeding hand on the book to steady herself and…

The Book was gone and Hermione was crumpled on the floor, unconscious. Harry had acted quickly. Hermione was still breathing, her pulse was steady, but nothing he did would wake her up. Ron just stood there, mouth open, doing nothing.

Harry lifted Hermione and rushed down the stairs to the Floo, somehow managing to toss the powder in the fireplace, step in and yell Saint Mungos without knocking any part of his friend against a wall, a stairwell, or the fireplace.

Healers were on him as soon as he stepped through. The Healers knew who they were at first sight; maybe being the saviors of the Wizarding World and renowned Heroes had its perks. Harry did not care so long as they could just **wake her up**. They asked what had happened at they led him to a room, having not attempted to lift her out of his arms – maybe they knew he wouldn't let them, or maybe he looked half-insane. He could not put to words what he felt – other than panic.

Harry relayed the situation to the best of his ability. The head healer dismissed the rest as she ran diagnostic charms and processed what she had been told. She blinked as charm after charm revealed the same thing.

"Her hand was bleeding, you said?" She asked slowly.

"Yes. Her index finger, specifically."

She nodded and smoothed her robes brusquely. "My charms show that Ms. Granger is in a magically induced coma – it bears striking similarities to the Draught of Living Death. However, there is one key difference…" She hesitated.

Harry wanted nothing more in his life then to shake this woman. How hard it is to tell him what they need to do to fix her?

"Draught of the Living Dead slows the body's processes to the point they seem to be dead. How long the potion is effective is very much dependant on the strength of the potion and the dosage. People have been known to die when the potion was too strong or the dosage too large; generally, the effects wear off as the body processes the potion.

With Ms. Granger, it seems her heart is still beating and she is still breathing, but…" She hesitated again. "It is as though the rest of her body is in stasis."

Harry blinked and closed his eyes, trying to understand exactly what the Healer was trying to tell him. After a moment, it clicked.

"You're saying that it isn't likely that the effect will just wear off."

She nodded. "We need to determine what caused your friend's current state before we can ascertain the remedy. Honestly Mr. Potter, I have never seen anything like this and the closest thing I have ever read to it was in Fairy Tales."

All Harry could think was: This couldn't be happening.


	2. Chapter 2

Hello again, and a big thank you to all of you who have taken the time to read and review, and favorite and follow, this story. I should be updating weekly or so; updates to this story will only be delayed if my Twin Age muse takes me on a joy ride… it has been known to.

Thank you again.

::Disclaimer:: Not mine, no profit, lots of angst.

Enjoy.

**Sleeping Chapter 2**

Harry wondered how on earth it had taken him this long to realize it. Ron was useless.

Sure, he had his moments of brilliant insight, and could be counted on for tactics and strategy, so long as it was within a situation with defined rules. He was the type of person who could be uncommonly observant and produce genius solutions, so long as he had a point of reference and could fit all the information into his own little box. Ron was not the one to think outside his own box.

That was not to say that Ron's box was inside everyone else's box, which is why some of the ideas the Weasley produced were so inspired. He had a box of his own, that one, which was separate from others and no want to understand or acknowledge that other boxes exist.

Harry was sure that all this thought on boxes was largely brought about by the fact that he was surrounded by them and his thoughts on Ron and boxes by his friend's total and complete uselessness.

He had returned to the house to find Ron in the kitchen eating as though nothing had happened. The most he had said was "think she will break it off with me when she wakes up?" That was, of course, after Ron asked Harry if she was 'very mad' when she woke up, only to have Harry tell him she was not awake and that the Healers were unsure what to do to wake her.

Harry could not think of a time he had ever been so angry. There was nothing he could say that would not result in his wand drawn and releasing a flurry of hexes on his best-friend. He just could not understand how Ron could be so unaffected by it. This was his GIRLFRIEND in the hospital. In the HOSPITAL because he was being a childish WANKER – not to mention the Healers have no idea how to fix her. Harry had the feeling they were not sure if she could Thbe fixed.

All this worry because Ron threw a tizzy-fit, and the bloke didn't even have the courtesy to be shame faced, or feel particularly guilty. Harry was, by turns, confused and disgusted. Was this truly the depth of the caring Ron was capable of feeling for his friends? How long before he decided there was no point in waiting for her to wake up? How long before he just up and decides Hermione would WANT him to move on and live his life. Harry was more than half certain it would take less than a month.

Harry had said nothing more, just shook his head and climbed the many flights of stairs to the attic. He did not bother to go through the chest Hermione had been sorting through, just shrunk it and put it in his pocket. From there, he wrote a message to Molly and Minerva as he thought the two of them should know what had happened before it was all over the papers asking Pig to deliver them. It was about all the help he would get from Ron, of that he was sure.

_Hermione knew instantly that she was in her own mind. She was quite happy that her mind was as comfortable and organized as she had always pictured._

_It was as though her mind were a house, each room dedicated to a different purpose, the knowledge she had accumulated in the form of books lining shelf after shelf. She had only to think of what she wanted to remember to have the memory projected on the screen; this was discovered when she wondered what had happened._

_The book she had been reading had been a fascinating construct unlike any she had seen. The book had seemed to have been spelled to document the life and knowledge accumulated by a certain family. The spells she had read, the tale of the family, had surpassed anything she had hoped to learn in her lifetime. There has been something about it, the book had seemed to have been aware; it has WANTED her to read it. And really, who was she to refuse a book._

"_It is much more than a book you know."_

_Hermione spun around, completely surprised to have company within her own mind. It was something she had never thought to consider._

_The person who stood before her was about the same height and build, but with hair as dark as the night during the witching hour and eyes a fae green. There was something vaguely familiar about her that Hermione just could not place._

"_It was really a stroke of genius on my part. Once I had realized all knowledge and magic was connected, I created a map of it within the pages, specifying that I wanted it to document the lives of myself and my descendants. You are the first in many, many, generations, to have found your legacy."_

_Hermione was sure that had this all not been taking place within her own mind, she would have been much slower to come to an understanding._

"_How can I be your descendant? I am a muggle-born."_

_The witch, (memory of a witch?), smiled and shook her head. _

"_In the time that came before – before the founding of the school, before even the time of Merlin, there was magic._

_Magic is in all things and all things have magic; there is more to magic than having the capability – one must understand this within them. During this time, all beings were much the same – all beings were magical. _

_There were always those who despised magic and the ability to use it. It was these people who found a way to suppress it, and in suppressing it did so in their children and their children's children until there would be no memory of the gift that lay in each of them. These people eventually became what you know of as Muggles. Eventually, the magic that has been suppressed through a family line will manifest in an individual, resulting in Muggle-borns._

_The family line from whence you came, has had a varied past. The suppression of the magic was not the wish of your ancestors, but something that was forced upon them by others once upon a time." She raised an eyebrow and looked at Hermione knowingly. "The specifics have all been documented and now reside in your mind, if you want to know more you will have to access the information yourself in regards to magical suppression within our family._

"_Those who had decided this fate for our family felt they could not track us any other way, as those of us who practiced never disclosed our family name. It did not help their cause that all the magical users of our line they were aware of have been women."_

"_You are saying that my ancestors were a Matriarchy who never disclosed more than their first names so as to protect those of the line."_

"_In the time before mine, names were dangerous. Those who knew another's full name, their true name, had the power to destroy a person. This magic had largely been lost to the ages, but still exists. At the time, it was an added measure of protection. The women of our line rarely entered into a life-bond and often refused to forgo our quest for knowledge in lieu of tending to the wants or needs of a man or bond-mate._

_Our line has yet to produce more than one child and the child has always been female."_

_It was very logical, to Hermione. "Why was it, exactly, others joined together in forcing the suppression of our magic."_

_The other witches smile grew, "Because our line has always been very powerful."_

"_There has to be more to it than that." Hermione stated. "Although others will always fear and covet those who are more powerful, that is generally not enough reason to take action."_

"_My dear child, the only other thing needed is drive and ambition, generally coupled with intelligence. The others found a way to strip us of our power and seem to be doing with magical world a service whilst doing so."_

_Hermione just could not fathom. "But **how**?"_

_The witch just shook her head. "By making us seem evil."_


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you for all the follows, favorites, and reviews. Here is the next chapter, which I hope you will enjoys.

:: Disclaimer :: All things related to Harry Potter are the intellectual property of JK Rowling. I am in no way profiting from the use of its characters or locations.

**Sleeping Chapter 3**

Harry had returned to Saint Mungos to look through the chest. There seemed to be any number of things that could have cut Hermione, although there was not a speck of her blood anywhere. Harry found himself drawn again to the same item again and again, as though it were shouting at him "Just LOOK at me already."

So far, he had determined that most everything in the chest was enchanted. Harry decided to go with this instinct and lifted the item from the chest, careful not to impale himself in any way. He waved the Healers away from the chest, part of him sure that the contents were not meant to be viewed by anyone other than Hermione. An odd thought, but the part that was telling him (his subconscious) had never been wrong.

In his hand was a spindle of some sort, very old, and slightly scarred – as though someone has attempted to destroy it at some point. He sat there, inspecting the item in his hand for an unknown amount of time. Harry was at a loss.

The magic he sensed was unlike anything he had known – the resonance similar in some aspects to the stones of Hogwarts itself. As though the magic was **in** the object, not something cast upon it. Maybe more that whatever magic it contained was _woven_ into it somehow? His subconscious told him as much, but establishing what the spindle was meant to DO was far beyond his level of understanding. The magic used was far beyond **most** people's level of understanding.

He felt despair trying to find a firm hold on him. No one knew how the Founders were able to enchant the Castle in the way they had. The knowledge believed to have been buried with them; the only person who had come close to figuring it out was lying unconscious not two feel from him. The only other person he thought intelligent enough was still in recovery from the final battle – the Healers had been unsure whether or not the individual would be able to speak after; due to a dark magic component to the injury. He could only hope Minerva…

She strode in, her authority so very welcomed as far as he was concerned.

"I received your note, have they determined what is wrong?" She asked, the tenor of her voice off somehow. He shook his head.

"Only that her state is magically induced and that we need to determine what spell was used before we can reverse the effects."

"How did it happen?"

So he told her, the whole of it, before showing her the magical object in his hand. Her hands trembled slightly as she took the spindle from his hand. He explained what he knew about it, hoping she did not actually ask him how he could know such a thing.

She nodded slowly and turned the object over in her hand reverently. "Yes, the magic in this is very old and very powerful. I cannot tell what the specific spell is but… " She paused, seeming to focus more intently. "I am sorry, all I can tell is _sleep_; which is rather obvious."

Harry nodded. He hadn't expected her to be able to give him all the answers. That would be entirely too easy. He really could not think of a problem that had been solved in one day. Well, nothing major anyway. He was sure there was a time when he had to figure how to do any number of things, and then he probably had to learn how to do so with magic. Look at the things he thinks of to distract himself from the problem.

Focusing his whole attention on it had yet to render any results.

"Although," McGonagall said under her breath. "I feel I have seen this somewhere before."

The thought had crossed Harry's mind as well. He was unsure how exactly he knew it _was _a spindle, as he had never had cause to be near such a thing. The only time he had heard of one referenced were in fairy tales; like the one he used to hear during story time in his primary school long ago. It occurred to him that this was the second time the term had been mention.

"Oh!" The Scottish professor exclaimed, "I have seen this very spindle in a carving that was kept in the school library! It was a particularly old illustration of the story Sleeping Beauty."

There was a buzzing in Harry's head, as though his mind just decided to stop working. "But… that is just a story. Something someone made up a long time ago to keep children in line."

Minerva looked at him strangely. "Harry, you of all people should know that in every story is a grain of truth. A lot of our history before the decision to separate ourselves from the Muggle world has been recorded and retold as Fairy Tales. We could not completely erase all that had happened between our two worlds, but we could let them fall far from factual memory."

"What was the remedy then? What released Sleeping Beauty from her enchanted sleep?" He asked, his breath coming in quick gasps.

"Why, the kiss of her own true love."

"_Were they evil?" Hermione demanded._

"_Child, you are old enough to realize that nothing is as black and white as people would want you to believe. The history is in your mind now, for you to peruse and judge to your heart's content. There is much you do not know of your heritage and I am only here as a construct, here to introduce certain aspects before fading into your psyche._

"_In my time, my mother's time, and my daughter's time, if not more, we were so very dedicated to knowledge. Knowledge would always come quickly and easily to us and as we learned we deduced many different ways to use the information. We created spells, learned advanced enchanting – much more complex than charms and transfiguration. At some point, we became able to foretell the outcomes of certain events; it was not divination by any means – more a very complicated form of arithmacy and a strong connection and knowledge of the base of magic._

"_Unfortunately, when we would try to determine events or results of our own actions or events, they would never read true; likely due to our personal bias._

"_We have rarely been very social creatures and were content to just be, as it were. Others, however, came to the determination that we had foreknowledge we were unwilling to share and so developed a plan to use it against us._

"_They found a true seer and used a prophecy to bring about our undoing. It was a plan that took generations to enact and as the length of time exceeded out predictions, we did not see the outcome._

"_The problem with knowing what is happening NOW or soon is that it leaves one very short-sighted in the long run. Suffice it to say, we made enemies by being who we were and, being who we were, failed to see the enmity or the consequences that could result._

"_As I said, I am but a construct to guide you or a reference for the information which you now have at your disposal."_

"_But, what is your name?" Hermione asked, realizing she had yet to inquire._

_The other witches smile turned rueful. "I was once known as Maleficent."_


	4. Chapter 4

It seems that I am slowly getting a following, just makes me wonder where you all were when I started Twin Age – and why don't you read that one as well. ;) A big thank you to all the followers, favorites, and reviews. I promise I am not trying to have the end of each chapter be some big reveal; seems to just happen that way.

And so it continues… enjoy.

::Disclaimer:: Not mine and never will be. ::tear::

**Chapter 4**

Harry blinked at his former professor owlishly. It was as though his mind refused to process what she had just said. Sure, he had heard her; sure, he understood what she had said. He just couldn't seem to follow the statement to its conclusion. Honestly, what is a bloke supposed to do, or think, when told his best mate can only be woken by the kiss from their true love.

Maybe he was supposed to think 'Hey! She and Ron are together and have declared their love to each other! This could be solved in a day after all!' Harry was many things: optimistic, self-effacing, courageous, oft-times willfully oblivious. One thing he was not, however much Professor Snape had adamantly disputed, was stupid.

It was worth a try, he supposed, having Ron kiss Hermione; it was expected even. He knew it wouldn't work. You just don't throw things at you true love; especially not over something as small and silly as feeling ignored.

"Okay… supposing this spindle is the one from the story," Harry said slowly, "an idea we do not seem to have a way to verify currently, what action can we take?"

Minerva frowned in consideration.

Harry hoped her thought process had worked out what his had, without his conscious knowledge. Really, it was interesting to think about what his mind could work out when he really did not want to actively think about something. Maybe it was an avoidance thing; his mind could process thoughts he didn't want to have faster and give him a summary while he avoided thinking about it by think about something else. His mind was a marvel, it was.

Professor McGonagall was looking at him with a bit of apprehension. Oh, he thought, she knows too.

"Well Harry… whatever we do, she must have protection."

In her current state, Hermione would have no way of protecting herself from any and all unwanted attention. Her status as a war-heroine was a blessing and a cure; there would be those who would do all they could for her as well as those who would do all they could to bring her harm. They needed a plan, and quickly.

"Saint Mungos has very good security features in place, which will do for the short-term." Harry said, uncertain when his grasp on the situation had become such that he could take charge. Maybe it was from knowing Minerva has as little idea of how to handle the situation as he did and that the healers really had no clue, so far anyway. "I will find the healer and show them the spindle, maybe they have a way of detecting the enchantment so that we can be sure it is as you suspect…" He paused.

"Once we know whether they confirm or reject our suspicion, we can plan further." McGonagall finished. He nodded. There was so much they needed to know before they could **do** anything.

If this was the type of sleep that would not wear off in time, would her body deteriorate without medical and magical interference? If the remedy was true love's kiss, how could they find her true love? Would they have to have her on display somewhere, letting anyone try their lips at waking her?

Harry shuddered, sure that if it was the last resort that was exactly what they would do. He shuddered again, knowing if they did Hermione would be very unhappy with the spectacle they would have made of her. He ran a shaky hand through his never tidy hair. Hermione's bad-side was a place he never wanted to be on.

He took the spindle, intent to locate the healer and leaving his friend in their former professor's care. He would do what was necessary, Hermione's wrath or no; he wondered if it made him a bad person to strongly consider laying the blame, in its entirety, at Ron's feet. He was the one who got them into this mess after all.

"_Maleficent…" Hermione repeated slowly. She was a typical female whose early childhood had been spent completely in the muggle world. She had read every fairy tale her primary school's library had had to offer; and she had watched every Disney Cartoon movie created. _

_She closed her eyes, wondering idly if this was a delusion after all. It was possible, she considered as she compared her current situation with her recollection of the time she had spent petrified in her second year. No, her level of awareness was completely different and her dreams had always had a translucent quality._

"_Again, my dear, all the information is stored within your mind to be perused at your convenience." The other witch said, indifference evident._

"_If you are a construct, could you not relate the information to be as asked? Would the form or method through which I decided to access it matter overmuch?" Hermione questioned, as quickly as her mind was processing the situation, bits of the whole were confusing. Part of her wanted to believe the entire conversation to be a projection of her memories; the whole of her wanted to find a way to prove the validity of the construct's statements._

"_How you access the information is at your discretion. However, the information must be accessed before it can be assimilated into your personal knowledge bank." Maleficent, as Hermione was struggling to identify the construct as, stated before indicating the rows upon rows of books lining the walls of the home that was Hermione's mind. "Once you leave your mind, you will be able to summon the grimoire at will."_

_Hermione nodded, appeased (mostly) to know there would be a way to verify that the whole of their conversation was not a figment of her imagination. "Am I able to summon your construct at will as well?" She asked, already having moved to settle herself into a chair beside the book – the grimoire ._

_The other witch nodded. "So long as we are within the confines of your mind, I am at your disposal."_

_Hermione lifted the large tome onto her lap and opened the cover. She opened her mouth and lifted her head, another question on her lips, only to find the construct gone. Maybe she could only have it one way or the other, she thought, the construct or the book. Her worry settled at the thought; although she would have enjoyed hearing whether her supposed ancestor had been the evil fairy who had cursed the lovely and beautiful princess from the story, she found that she would like to see if there was some sort of family tree. _

_She had always known her mother and grandmother were only children; she just hadn't had reason to wonder or ask whether her great-grandmother had been an only female child as well, let alone those that came before her._

_Hermione considered herself to be a fairly open-minded individual; she had accepted the fact that she was a witch quickly. It was not so very hard for her to believe this. She had learned the hard way that there was more to life than what she had always known or believed to be true._


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello again! I had asked a friend to upload this chapter and, though they did, I had not realized there was no author's note or disclaimer. And so…**

**::Disclaimer:: Don't own, no profit.**

**Chapter 5**

Okay, so, diagnostic tests on the spindle revealed it to be, if not the original, a replica of the enchanted artifact from the story of Sleeping Beauty. Provided, of course, that it was the spindle she injured herself on; he knew it was, he was just at the point where he would prefer next to any other remedy. Whoever had said that knowing was half the battle, had never had a friend in an enchanted sleep that could only be broken by true love's kiss.

Harry closed his eyes and fought the urge to lower his head into his hands and wallow. He had been wallowing a good bit, if he were honest, and 24 hours after knowing for sure what spell Hermione was under he still hadn't thought out the plan. He had the general idea of, well, get her kissed by her true love. He had even dragged Ron to the wizarding hospital and made him kiss the unresponsive girl.

That had not gone too well… or too easily, truth be told.

Harry had burst into his home and barged into Ron's room, thrown clothes at him, and told him to hurry because they needed to get to Hermione. Ron had, of course, been very confused and worked into a right panic by how frantic Harry had been. It had not gone over too well when the flooed into the lobby and raced to her room only for Ron to discover her in much the same state Harry had took her in.

The dark haired wizard could not really blame his friend, looking back, he had made it seem as though Hemione was at Death's door with his yelling and flailing about. He hadn't known he was going to react that badly, even being prepared and suggesting the possibility to the healers when they checked the magical bit of metal. It was not one of his finest moments.

"What do you expect me to do mate?" Ron had demanded; his ginger hair a right mess and his clothing an odd combination. Really, Harry could have done a better job with his eyes closed. "Kiss it make better?"

Harry nodded enthusiastically. That was, after all, what he had been going for. Sure, it working was unlikely, but it seemed to him the best they could do was start with their inner circle of friends and work their way out. Keep it as secret as possible and hope this wouldn't turn into a 100 year project. He would hate for his friend to wake up to find a majority of her friends either dead or in the last years of his life. Oh, look, he was causing himself to panic.

"Well, Ron, I say we give that idea a go… I mean, it couldn't hurt anything right?" Harry had said. It occurred to him that he hadn't really explained what was 'wrong' with Hermione. It also occurred to him that if he did tell the final third of their trio the truth, he probably wouldn't kiss her just because he would be worried it wouldn't work and be stark proof of the end of their relationship. "And hey, if you apologize now, she probably won't kill you when she wakes up." Right, that was likely.

Ron just shook his head and gave Hermione a soft peck on the lips. Nothing changed and Harry deflated. Ron mumbled an apology to his comatose girlfriend (ex?) looked at Harry for a minute and left the room. Harry sunk into the chair he had spent a great deal of time in since his initial arrival and set out to wallow.

He was really very good at it.

Really.

_Hermione was fascinated. The wealth, breath, and depth of knowledge contained within the enchanted pages… so much had been lost, so much had never been common knowledge to begin with. So sad that others had seen fit to suppress it. _

_Her ancestor had not exaggerated or softened the truth of her heritage; it did seem her predecessors had loved knowledge above all else, with the occasional exception being their progeny. It seemed as though the trait were genetic as much as learned; a fine argument for nature versus nurture. Oh how the pursuit of knowledge was encouraged, expected, and their family's ability to focus solely on that venture so very accepted and understood._

_And what they had discovered! Hermione had never been so disappointed as when she learned that wands were not necessary, that their use stifled each witch and wizard's magical ability in order to make the use of magic easier on the whole. Wands were invented by a wizard who was too lazy to use focus and control; a concept that was accepted easily by the masses once Hermione's heritage was forcibly suppressed. _

_It seemed, as was inferred within the tome, the more powerful witches and wizards did not dare to use such a crutch when her ancestors had been active. All accounts of her family's activities left a feeling of detachment from the events at the time; they were not known for seeking out power or influence over others, it was more that the tales of their accomplishments earned them a level of respect that could topple any agenda they may disagree with._

_The documentation of what her ancestors had been approached about had left her stunned. It seemed in times past, witches and wizards would align with muggle families in order to establish a ruling class. The Monarchies were the result of wizard influence and interference dating back before the age of Merlin. Hermione felt a trickle of pride for her family having obviously deciding such activities were wrong, at best, and a trivial waste of their time and intellect at worst. _

_That was not to say they were heartless; it was through a desperate appeal to her softer side that Maleficent had met her downfall. Honestly, Hermione was only slightly surprised when she learned the names of the leaders of the group who had saw fit to rob herself and many generations before her of their heritage, their birthright._

_Perhaps residing within her mind created a buffer between her intellect and her emotions. Still, a slow anger built at the sight._

_Her family had assisted in the enchanting of Hogwarts, using magic many did not understand, believing in the pursuit of knowledge as they did. They had created magical artifacts at the request of learned acquaintances, after being assured of the intended use of such things. They had scried for answers to the debate that had grown with each additional generation: remain known within the muggle world or remove themselves from it. It was her family who had learned that only persecution awaited if they stayed in the open. _

_The one group they assisted was the same group who betrayed them in the end; lead by names heralded as heroes in the time since._

_Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, Salizar Slytherin, and Godric Gryffindor. _


	6. Chapter 6

Hello everyone! Many apologies for the delay; suffice it to say that I have been exceptionally busy and a little out of sorts. The weather changing is really having its way with my health at the moment and had made it very difficult for me to have energy to do much of anything once I am home from work. I am trying my best and hope to resume the weekly updating.

Thank you again to all those who review, follow, and favorite. Feedback is greatly appreciated. Also, I have nothing much against Ron, and this isn't meant to be a story where he is truly horrible. There is a valid and understandable reason for the way he has been acting, promise.

Without too much further interruption/delay—

::Disclaimer:: (this is the other interruption/delay) Don't own, no profit.

Enjoy.

**Chapter 6**

It had been three weeks with no change. Well, none with Hermione; Harry was reasonably sure he was going mad, if one could be reasonably sure of such a thing. He had largely spent the time going through a fascinating cycle of furious thought, fruitless research, pitiful wallowing, and occasional bursts of hope. He would, honestly, prefer occasional bursts of genius; he had begun to suspect burst of genius only occur when a person was in contact with an actual genius. Maybe people with large intellects have this invisible field around them of all their knowledge and prolonged exposure causes a bit of it to be absorbed…

Thinking about what that could mean about Ron, considering he had found a way to stay well and truly ignorant, was something his mind had focused on for bits of time, off and on. He had decided, after reading so much even acknowledging that he had eyes was painful, if was likely that Ron's body had absorbed as much as it could take and had begun to reject genius. Ron did seem to have a low threshold for most things.

Like willingness to wait for your girlfriend to wake up from a comatose state you had caused her to fall into; that had lasted all of a week after his kiss. Harry supposed he may have been ever so slightly responsible, as Ron could not miss what Harry was researching. Harry wasn't even willing to take the time to fully remember the resulting conversation, choosing to keep the jist, which was: Ron understood that he and Hermione were not true loves and was unhappy that Harry did not tell him he knew what was wrong with the witch. He had said something along the lines of 'friends don't keep things like that from each other' and Harry had replied along the lines of 'friends don't willfully injure each other and then not care about it'. That was that.

The thing that ate at Harry's mind was the idea that Hermione was aware, awake, and unable to move. That she had been spending all of these weeks terrified. Sure, the mediwitches told him that she was sleeping, but also that her body was in a form of statis, that she was not aging. Some of his reading had led him to believe the spell impacted the true love in a similar fashion.

Not that they were in an enchanted sleep… that would make finding the other and ending the enchantment much more difficult. More the unknown intended would also stop aging and, in cases of severe physical problems, heal in order to find their love. Harry had found that story in a box of books in the attic Hermione had already sorted through. He never would have thought there would come a day in which he had read, at least part of, every book in Grimmald Place.

Harry doubted he had ever been this exhausted. Ron had told him, before the blow out, that killing himself to help Hermione wouldn't help. He had also gone on to say that she wasn't going anywhere and it was likely she was unaware that his attempts were even needed. Harry hadn't bothered to argue with him, in fact, he HOPED that was the case, because if his fears of her condition were accurate… he would have to kill one of his best friends.

He lowered his head into his hands. He was in his usual spot at St Mungos, having set up a guard schedule when the news had finally broke that one of the Golden Trio was hospitalized. News of her condition, that she was comatose and all efforts to date had failed to revive her, had been included and he refused to leave her unprotected.

A whooshing noise had him looking up, tired green eyes taking a moment to realize what he was seeing. Who, more like.

Severus Snape was walking briskly down the corridor, seeming to have not recognized the dark haired man slumped in the hospital chair. Harry eyed the man wearily, noting the new bandage peeking up above the collar of the man's robe. Their eyes met, Snape sneered, and Harry… A plethora of emotions and physical sensations swept through him. He jumped out of his seat, shook the professor's hand while proclaiming "You are a GENIUS!", before running into Hermione's room.

The former double agent stood still, as though petrified. Hell, he suspected, had just froze over.

::::

_Hermione had long since finished reading her ancestors' grimorie. She suspected her ability to complete it, and understand the information, so quickly and so well was due to being within her own mind while reading it. Her newfound knowledge had given her something she had not had before and had been secretly terrified of never finding: a purpose._

_She had moved on from processing the information to formulating plans. Different past relations had amassed their lifetime worth of material things, wealth, property, books, holdings, etc, that had been placed in trust for future descendants, verifiable through blood, at Gringotts. She calculated the amount of her inheritance to be such that she stood to become wealthier than quite a few of Britain's most prominent wizarding families combined. Sheer interest alone… she put it out of her mind._

_One thing she had long understood was that history is written by the victors. Her family's punishment and removal from history a natural consequence of finding themselves on the losing end. Her ancestors' enemies could not have anticipated a living history that would pass to each magical generation until it came to one who would have the wherewithal to use the information to right past wrongs._

_There was not much she could do without having access to certain information, but she knew where the information she needed was and once she had it. Her family would return to its former glory and then some. What they say about a woman scorned… had nothing on a witch scorned. Especially not when the witch they wronged was one of the strongest and most knowledgeable of their time. Hermione strongly suspected, with varying results, that each time magic manifested in her bloodline, the woman was very gifted in more ways than one. There was only one instance where the woman went insane. Her experiments and experiences with magic were… terrifying and brilliant at the same time. She had been once witch Hermione would never want to meet._

_She was working on her plans when a strange, blurred, figure appeared in the middle of her library. She blinked and squinted, realizing, belatedly, that it faintly resembled Harry. _

"_Could you maybe lower your shield a bit?" his voice asked hesitantly. She smiled and welcomed him into her mind._

"_Thank God, Hermione, I have been so very worried." Her dark-haired friend said, almost collapsing onto the floor._

_Hermione was a little confused, but not too apprehensive, she had known she had been injured slightly before absorbing the book. "Why? What is wrong?" She asked._

"_Well… I… you… uh." Harry started, obviously trying to find a way to say something she was sure she was not going to like too well._

"_Just say it straight, Harry, trying to pretty something up only makes it worse in the end." She was becoming more apprehensive. She had assumed that she had been brought into her mind to process the information and interact with the construct of her ancestor and that, once she had learned what she needed to know, she would return to reality. It had not felt as though more than a day had passed._

"_Mione…" He said, she really hated that nickname, "You've been unconscious for over three weeks."_


	7. Chapter 7

Here we are again, and again I must thank those of you who took a moment to review. For any of you who read more than one of my stories, you may have noticed it kills me to keep something simple. As for the who of it all… well, I am sure we will see. Eventually.

:: Disclaimer :: Don't own, no profit.

Enjoy.

**Chapter 7**

_Without having any real reference to time inside her mind, Hermione could not say with any confidence whether this would have been considered a normal amount of time spent in the pursuit of knowledge. She considered the sheer about of information she had processed, factored in her loss of time when generally learning something, and decided three weeks was a much shorter span of time for the level of understanding she had reached with that amount of information. It would likely have taken a decade for her to have reached the level of understanding she had amassed in three weeks._

_So really, she did not find the span of time too worrisome after a bit of consideration. The look on her friend's face and the fact that he had determined it necessary to find a way into her mind, however, were worrisome._

"_There is more to it, isn't there?" She asked. There was only one way to know after all._

_Harry nodded, slowly. She noticed then, just how… exhausted, stressed, and unwell her friend looked. It became painfully obvious that he had been working so very hard to help her, and with his imagination it was hard to say just what fate he thought may have befell her. She felt a flush of warmth; he was the greatest friend anyone could ask for really._

_He opened and closed his mouth a few times before just closing his eyes and looking away from her. "You are currently in an enchanted sleep that was the result of you having pricked yourself on a spindle…" This, she thought, could not be happening. "The enchantment can only be broken through true love's kiss."_

_She closed her eyes. As soon as he had said spindle, she had known where it was headed. What a lovely bit of irony this was, that she had found herself the victim of an artifact her ancestor had created. _

_That the spindle had been created at the behest of Godrick Gryffindor because the family he had aligned himself with seemed determined to wed their daughter, a renowned beauty, to a known abuser women mattered little. A wonderfully romantic thought from such a pragmatic woman, that Maleficient had sought to save the girl by an enchantment that guaranteed the love to be everything that was needed. The witch had used her family's form of scrying to see what could befall the beauty and the future Godrick had feared was to be if there was no intervention. _

"_Hermione, I don't know what to do." Harry said, frustration, sadness, and panic infusing his tone. "I have been trying to think of a way to find your true love, but other than granting everyone in existence the opportunity to kiss you… I can't think of anything._

_His following laugh chilled Hermione. If Harry didn't find time to rest he was going to go starkers._

"_I had just been thinking that genius is something you can absorb when Snape walked by and I had the idea to try using Legilimacy to be able to talk to you." Harry grabbed her arms and she found it interesting to note that it felt as though skin were touching skin. "Ron's kiss didn't work…" He said, almost as an afterthought._

_Hermione decided to think it all through later. "Harry," she said, cupping his cheek in her hand, seeing he needed comfort. "What you need to do is rest. I appreciate all that you are doing for me and as my only outside communication with the world until this is resolved, I need you to take care of you." He sighed and hugged her. She felt all the tension begin to ease out of him. "I am in no immediate danger, not in my mind, although I cannot say from the outside. Just don't try to put me in some towered encased by thorns." He chuckled._

"_Take some time to rest, I will take some time to think, and then come back and we will plan." He nodded and released her. As he was leaving her mind he heard her ask, "Have you tried kissing me, Harry?"_

::::

Harry would like to say he released the spell, swept her into his arms and she awoke from the mere brush of his lips. But really… ew, no. Yes, he loved her. Yes, he would do anything for her. It was just… they had never been that kind of interested. He had never really thought of her 'that way' and though he had never thought she was hard to look at, it was only on special occasions that he had a thought that she was actually pretty.

Still, if it were an actual possibility and he had already thought that anyone could be a possibility; he may as well give it a shot. After he woke up from his blackout that is. And after he built up the courage and resolve. He would likely be embarrassed for collapsing onto the floor next to Hermione's hospital bed, but that would have to wait until later.

:

Severus Snape had not known exactly what he had been expecting when he found himself outside of Miss Granger's room. Whatever it was, finding the dark-haired offspring of the former bane of his existence holding the witch's eyes open with one hand and pointing his wand at her with his other was not it. He quickly ascertained the nature of the spell the young Potter had used was likely legilimens.

The recovering professor had not been unaware that Miss Granger had found herself hospitalized; living in the slighted proximity to the headmistress saw to his being informed of all manner of things. He had not, however, been given details as to the nature of the war-heroine's condition. It seemed obvious, if only due to Potter's appearance, whatever happened to be ailing the young woman was likely very serious. Either serious or obscure enough to not have a solution readily available.

Severus glanced around, noting himself, Potter, and Miss Granger to be the only people within lines of visibility before picking up her file, copying it quickly, shrinking the copies, and pocketing them. He had replaced the original file and backed out of the room just as Potter gasped and staggered back from the bed. Severus spared a glance at the boy as he left, watching with no small amusement as the boy collapsed in a heap on the floor, unconscious.

He had copied the records because he enjoyed a good mystery and could use something to distract him from the horrible itching from his healing wounds. He smirked as he left the building, taking a moment to mention the boy-who-lived-twice seemed to have been napping on the floor of a hospital room to a random stranger on the street… within hearing distance of the reporters who stood waiting for a glimpse of the Wizarding World's savior.

For all that the hand shake had put him off his stride, Severus felt it had been a decent day.


	8. Chapter 8

Hello everyone,

It seems that I cannot help but disappear and give you excuses and promises that I keep breaking. I have been writing. Unfortunately, it has been on a novel and not on any fanfiction I have been working on. I will give you no excuses, just sincerely apologies and a resolve to do better.

As a warning, this Chapter is not as funny as those previous… it explains a bit and will continue on in the next. Thank you again to all who read, review, favorite, and follow.

::Disclaimer:: Not mine, no money, no sue. Thank you.

**Chapter 8**

_Hermione had a good laugh. The look on Harry's face has been well worth any awkward moments and sheepish looks that were likely to be had once she was awake and aware of the world at large. Oh, she knew the green-eyed wizard was not the man for her on an intimate level; who was she to resist when such an opportunity for amusement knocked lightly before ripping the door off its hinges and giving her a 'come hither' stare? _

_She had taken the time, after her laughter had faded and the memory stored safely aware to be revisited at the oddest moments, to consider further what he had told her. Truth be told, she was not too concerned to be under the influence of a spell created by her ancestor. It was possible she would be, had circumstances been different; as in, she not being the recipient of her line's complete magical history and been brought into her mind to process the information bequeathed, not magical at all, and of lesser overall intelligence. As it was, she had access to the construct of the spell's creator and a newly found and expansive understanding of 'How Magic Works'._

_The brown-eyed witch thought it rather unlikely Harry would somehow find her 'one true love', or most compatible suitor really, before she would deduce a way to reverse the spell's effects. It was due to this thought process that she did not summon her predecessor and begin to attempt to remedy her circumstance. No, instead she found herself trying to process one statement that had seemed to be spoken as an afterthought._

_Ron's kiss did not wake her. _

_Hermione was entirely too practical to think that the failure was likely because Harry was incorrect as to the why of it all; it had all rung too true for her to delude herself in that. There was so much Harry **hadn't** said as well. That Ron had wanted to be the one to try the spell, but they all know Harry is better with wand work. That Ron was in much the same condition as Harry and was so very worried. There was so much he did not say… that spoke volumes to Hermione._

_Ronald, with his emotional range of a teaspoon, was largely unaffected by what had befell his girlfriend. She was so very thankful to be within the confines of her mind, to be detached from the pain this understanding caused her. Anger was something that simmered in the edges, behind the pain, and she hoped with all her being that she found the root of it all before she had to rejoin the outside world. Otherwise… she may just kill a boy that used to be more than a friend._

Harry steeled himself before walking into his kitchen. He was not entirely sure on the whole 'how he made it home' aspect of his night. Truth be told, he was not sure of anything that may or may not have happened after his world went black after leaving Hermione's mind. He had spent a good part of his waking hours trying not to think about it all.

Hearing her voice in his head asking if he had tried kissing her had been giving him fits in all honestly. He felt that even considering the act was in violation of some unwritten rule or agreement he had made with Ron years and years and years ago. Hermione was not his, was never meant to be, and so she would of course be Ron's… once he got around to it.

The dark-haired wizard was rather angry and disturbed by the whole idea. That Hermione had been Ron's – had been anyone's and, therefore a piece of property, was a concept he was very unwilling to swallow. This was why, he was sure, Ron was unable to empathize with anyone – once you try you have to be willing to understand your own thoughts and feelings. Harry found there was a lot he was not happy in understanding about himself.

He did not like that he had let so many people manipulate his actions that he was unsure how much of what he did or thought or **felt** had been the result of someone else's influence. He resented that he had no… way to tell if what he was just realizing was the normal course of things.

Harry had always thought he had a pretty good understanding of who he was. It was not as though he had anyone to lean on, to turn to, for anything before he turned eleven years old; so he had to know a great deal about himself in order to survive. It was only now, with this sort of introspection brought on to understand why he was so upset with the idea of kissing his best-friend, that he could say – with absolute assurance – that he does not know **who **he is.

So much time had been spent doing or not doing things to keep those who's opinion or standing he based his worth off of happy. So much of it had been **instinctual** to him, likely a result of all the years of abuse, that he could not be sure how much of it was something he wanted to do or not do. Any which way and either which way, he was done. He would say what he thought if he wanted to, and anyone who did not like it could bugger their selves; he walked into the kitchen and faced his best friend of almost eight years.

Their eyes met and locked. Harry could tell that Ron knew a bit of what Harry was going to say, maybe he had taken some time to figure himself out while Harry had been trying to figure out how to help Hermione.

Ron laid his sandwich on his plate. "I buggered it all, and I know it." Harry didn't know what to say, he doubted there was anything Ron could say to make it right. "And I know nothing I say can make it right." Harry almost rolled his eyes.

"It's just… even back in third year I had this idea that, in the end, Hermione and I would be together. It wasn't something I thought about a lot, and not something I ever really actively pursued. It was just, you know, there, and I think you thought so too. Or maybe you thought so because I thought so." He paused.

"Anyway, the thing is, when it came to Hermione, I always knew she was a better friend than me. I always knew she was made for bigger and better things than me, but I always thought I deserved bigger and better things – that with everything I did or didn't do for the 'greater good' I would be worthy of you as a friend and her as mine." Harry sullenly assured himself that he was not going to jump on the 'reassure Ron' train that he had conducted for years.

"Only problem is, we don't work. Me and her… we don't like the same things. I mean, we understand each other better than most, but have known each other so long that it just doesn't really matter. The only way we stayed friends is because you were the buffer.

I always made you chose between me and her and when the time came for me to make a choice, I chose me. It seems to be part of who I am, and I am okay with it. I just hope you and 'Mione will too."

Harry blinked at his long-time friend. Sure, it had been a heart-felt and exposing confession, but it did not make it right. He took a deep breath, and let it out. And again.

"Ron, Hermione and I are good enough friends and people that we accept our friends for who they are and forgive things – big and small. But tell me, what is the point in being friends with someone who, in the end, never truly has your back? Think about that, and I hope you have a good enough answer by the time she wakes up." He looked away. "Otherwise, you do not want to be here when she wakes up."


	9. Your Two Cents (and Preview)

Hello Everyone!

I am sorry to say that this is not, in fact, a chapter. It is not a notice of discontinuation or anything along those lines either. This is, simply, an opportunity I am extending to my followers and to those who have favored the story.

I cannot say the story is nearing the end, but it is nearing an important plot twist that leads to the surprise pairing.

This posting is an invitation for you to 'put your two cents in' on who should be my Hermione's One True Love. I have quite a few endings in mind with different beaus and thought you may enjoy potentially having a say.

With this in mind, feel free to send me a PM or post a review. The only people whose opinions will be considered are people who have favorite or follow the story. Additional consideration will be given to those who have supported my efforts through reviews.

I will leave this up for five days or so. I plan to post the next chapter on 11/13/12.

And so as not to leave you feeling too very disappointed…

**Preview of Chapter 9**

_Enough is enough. Hermione thought vigorously as she paced what she had long thought of as the 'main room'. For time unknown, she had been trying to find the root of her hurt and her anger that roved the edges of her consciousness. She was angry because she **hurt**. She hurt because…._

_That was where she faltered. In the time since she and Ronald had established themselves as a couple, she had realized it would not work; that it was only a matter of time before one of them would do something that would cause the other to end it and hope their friendship would survive. They just… were not compatible. Oh, she cared for him – of course she did. She had long recognized that their heightened relationship had an expiration date on it. It was the difference between knowing something and **knowing **something._

_Maybe the end always hurt, she could not really say, as he was her first relationship. She had not felt much of anything when Victor had stopped writing, thinking it was normal for two people to drift after so long, especially when they live so far apart, with such different lives. This was different… she thought maybe the hurt was not because the relationship had met its end so much that she felt betrayed by his seeming disinterest in her well being._

_That was probably it. And really, she did **not** want to think about it anymore._

_She summoned Maleficent with a thought and turned her attention to the task at hand. With the use of the construct, finding the information she needed should be fairly easy; especially once you consider Maleficent **created** the enchantment Hermione had fallen victim to. Knowing her own proclivities, Hermione suspected there was a reversal that she had already assimilated into her knowledge base. No, getting out of this would not be a problem._

_Knowing what to do once she was… was something she was forcibly not considering._

:: Disclaimer - Not mine, no money, no sue. Thank you ::


	10. Chapter 9

Hello everyone!

Through much contemplation, I have decided to keep the note and the preview as its own chapter. This is because I prefer to begin this Chapter as I have rather than to repeat the 'preview' I posted previously. Also, as an aside, you should know this is NOT the end. Even though it could be. If I were evil.

:: Disclaimer:: Not mine, no money, no sue.

Reviews are appreciated, as always.

Sleeping, Chapter

_Time, at least for Hermione, was of no real concern. There were no clocks, no sun, nothing that could give so much as a clue as to how much of it had passed. Hermione was very aware that it would make no sense for her mind to have a morning, noon, and night, although she wished for some sort of indication as to the time and date outside of herself._

_Without something that could be used as a time-piece, she had no way of knowing just how long it had been since Harry's visit. It was not as though she felt a pressing **need** to leave the confines of her mind and return to the conscious world. No, the sole true motivation thereof was to alleviate the worry and strain her current state had placed her friend into._

_In all honesty, Hermione felt… accomplished. She had processed and assimilated so much information, had a plan of action as to use the newly acquired information, and had found that which she had begun to fear was lost to her… motivation, something to live and work towards._

_It was her feeling of displacement, of loss of self, that had lead her into the relationship with Ronald. It was her innate and unconscious understanding that the relationship was wrong for them both that had taken her back to Hogwarts to help in the reconstruction. Burying herself in the research, the application, and the work to keep from having to take the moment to stop and **look** at her life; to think about where it might be heading._

_Oh, but she was angry. Years of doing anything and everything in her power to keep her friends safe, to help them with their studies, to make sure they could succeed should they survive the war that had plagued them… and what acknowledgment did she have? _

_She hadn't done any of it for a claim to fame or even for any chance of renown. She had acted as she had because they were her friends, two of the most important people in the world to her, and in the end – only one of them cared._

_To have sacrificed so much…_

_No matter, her current anger and disappointment could be laid on her shoulders. The writing had been clear as day to anyone willing to read it. Ronald had never been her friend. He had never put his own wants and perspectives behind her own; he only sought to include her when he needed something from her. How she could have thought something so very one-sided could evolve into something… clearly, she hadn't been thinking._

_After she returned to the world of the awake and aware, she would treat him with the same level of concern he had shown her during this time; which she had interpreted from Harry's lack of any information regarding the red-haired wizard to be little to none. _

_Harry on the other hand… he was a true friend. One she was sure would do anything and everything in his power to rescue her from the confines of her mind, whether or not it was a place she actually actively wanted to leave. She didn't, really, but that could be avoidance as much as anything she supposed. However, she wasn't sorted into Gryffindor for nothing._

_She had all the information she needed, found relatively quickly with the assistance of her ancestral construct, with a slight twist it should all work out well. She took a moment, if only a moment it was, centered herself, and **focused**…._

It had been over a week and Harry still hadn't worked up the nerve to do as his friend had suggested. In the time between he had worn a path through his brain circling, if not chasing the same thought: did she **mean** it?

Sure he had come to a level of understand that he may have been manipulated away from any thoughts or feelings of attraction towards his best-female-friend. All that understanding had truly accomplished was to have him alternating between wanting kiss her in a fit of rebellion and wanting to curl up somewhere and forget the thought ever occurred to him. It hadn't taken him long to determine that neither option held any sort of true motivation; or no motivation worth considering.

So, he had taken some time, done a bit of soul searching… and still hadn't gotten anywhere.

Well, technically, he had made the decision to 'give it a shot'; which coincided with his decision to 'just not think about the rest of it'. Yes, the man who had had the courage to walk to what he had known would be his death, come out alive, and face the man who had killed so very many… could not find any courage left to lean over his friend's bedside to kiss her. Secretly, he would rather face the Dark Lord again.

It wasn't as though he hadn't done so and lived more than half a dozen times. Really.

So engrossed in his thoughts he only understood the tail end of something someone was saying to him. "… Mr. Potter." It was likely his name that brought his attention to the present. And the process that went through Harry's brain after that point was likely due to it snapping.

When Severus Snape had made his way back to Saint Mungos for his weekly check-up, he had been playing with the idea of stopping by the indisposed witch's room before he left to see if there had been any changes. Having looked through her file, and assorted books from the school's and his private collection, he had found a truly interesting but of magic.

Being a person of above average intelligence, he had found it likely that Potter would be there. Severus had noticed in the many times one of the 'Golden Trio' were incapacitated in the hospital wing during their time in school; it took every trick in the book to get them to leave their friend for any span of time. He sneered at the idea much as he had at its practice in years prior.

Still, understanding that the young Mr. Potter would likely be there could not prepare him for the insanity that resulted.

When Severus caught Harry's attention, the younger wizard's eyes glowed with… something akin to fervent belief. He rambled on, in words spoken so quickly the dark-eyed wizard could not truly hope to follow; something about there only being one reason for Severus to be drawn to Hermione's hospital room, that the spell must have healed a majority of the damage done to his throat and vocal chords, and there was only one thing left for the elder wizard to do.

Severus would maintain to the day of his death that the only way Harry had been able to grab him, drag, him to the hospital bed, and practically slam his face against that of the young sleeping wish was a combination of Severus being surprised and Harry being insane. Harry would maintain much the same.

That Hermione's eyes had snapped open the moment Severus' mouth was forcibly lowered to hers was actually determined to be the cause of two things Hermione had not thought to see in her lifetime: her former potions master to blush and stammer, and her best-friend's eyes roll back into his head and crumple disgracefully to the floor.


	11. Chapter 10

Hello and thank you to everyone who took a moment to read and another to review; your continued attention is very much appreciated. For those of you who have asked, and/or wondered, yes, I am still taking your two cents into consideration.

Thank you again, and enjoy!

:: Disclaimer :: Not mine, no money, no sue.

Sleeping Chapter 10

Perhaps the weeks spent within the comfort of her mind had heightened her response to physical stimuli as well as hastened her ability to process information; it seemed more than possible as it took less than a heartbeat to understand exactly what situation she had awoken to and about a blink to realize the sensation of her former professor's lips was at least partly enjoyable. For all that it had been reluctant, stiff, and fleeting.

All in all, she had experienced worse. Much worse.

Being the brightest witch of her age, a label she had not given herself, she knew she had very limited time to decide how to ease past the unfortunate circumstances Harry had brought upon them without damaging any of them in the process. Admittedly, her dealings with a certain former Death Eater had never been particularly pleasant and if she were to be able to discuss her future with the man, and the plans she had made after assimilating her birthright could use a man of his intellect and caliber greatly… it would be best to restore as much of his dignity as possible and direct his potential embarrassment and ire elsewhere.

Which meant she was going to throw Harry under the bus… or off the astronomy tower as the kids were saying these days. She was sure he deserved it.

"Do you have a camera?" She asked, her voice seemingly unaffected from weeks of disuse. "It isn't every day the 'savior of the wizarding world' faints."

For his part, Severus seemed more than willing to follow her lead and just continue on as though it never happened. Newly awakened witch or no, the young wizard was going to pay. "It happens fairly regularly, from what I have observed."

Hermione looked at him, considering. It had been very apparent to her that the amorous advance had been neither is intention nor action; she had fully expected him to stalk out of the room and be even more snappish when she approached him later with her proposal. She wondered how much he knew of her prior 'condition' and whether it would be better to broach the subject another time. She supposed it would all depend whether his motivations for staying to talk with her were largely based on the belief that he was her 'one true love'.

She hoped he was more intelligent than her dear, currently unconscious, friend lying in a heap on the floor. His voice broke her musings.

"Miss Granger, you do not appear to be very surprised or unnerved by your current location. Does that mean you are aware, at least in part, as to why you are here?" Her brow arched a bit. He was just full of surprises.

"Well, Master Snape, I was informed that I had been admitted to the hospital due to the effects of a sleeping enchantment. The counter to which Mr. Potter had determined to be 'true loves kiss', which had he access to information I possessed, he would have known better."

Severus processed the information. Oh, he had questions, on any number of topic directly related to the situation at hand. Her file had said nothing of a kiss breaking the enchantment. It seemed the healers had been reluctant to take Potter's supposition as fact.

Hermione saw the questions and interest in his eyes and wondered belatedly if he had always been this easy to read or if it was a result of all she had learned in the past weeks.

"Harry used Legilimancy to enter my mind and appraised me of the situation. The information he did not know included my having knowledge of how the enchantment was meant to work and could circumvent its effects; namely the death-like slumber.

"The enchantment was created to bring what was needed most to the affected individual. As I was not in the true sleep intended for the enchantment, I was able to determine what I 'needed'. Given enough time, I would have woken without assistance, although it would have taken much more effort on my part. As a kiss is a key to being released from the sleep, I focused on the need to wake – which any kiss would likely suffice.

"Honestly, if Harry had done as I had asked him, I would likely have awoken sooner. Likely, but uncertain as I had no concept of time."

The potions master blinked. Twice. "It had been my intention to offer assistance to Mr. Potter as the enchantment seemed to have similar properties to the potion of living death; I had thought a simple adaptation of the restorative potion would suffice."

The witch nodded. "Your logic is correct, although belladonna would have been necessary."

Severus nodded briskly before he turned to take his leave. It was at that moment a single question occurred to him. "How is it, Miss Granger, that you know all this?"

She blinked at him, owlishly, and stifled a grin. "As you, of all people are well aware, Master Snape, I am… a know it all."

"So you're saying he is not your true love?" Harry asked. Hermione had lost track of how many time he had asked, rephrasing the question as though to see if the answer would change. She rolled her eyes.

"It is very unlikely."

"And any kiss would have worked?"

"Yes, Harry."

"Then why didn't Ron's work?" Now that was a new question. At least he was moving away from the endless cycle of 'Snape's kiss woke you' and 'I am sorry I made him kiss you', in different variations of course.

"Because he was not my true love." Best to keep it simple as it seemed something in her dark-haired friend's mind was not quite fixed yet. She could not decide if she was upset or just mildly insulted that Harry had dreaded kissing her to the point of actually deciding he preferred to manhandle their former professor. Honestly, it couldn't have been **that** bad.

"Hermione…" Harry said slowly, as though speaking to a very simple person. Her eyes narrowed in response. "You are not making any sense."

She closed her eyes and counted to ten. It was possible she was giving him entirely too much credit.

"Harry…" she said in much the same tone he had used. "When Ronald attempted to kiss me, I was unaware that I was under the influence of an enchantment. Once you informed me of the situation, I changed the need the enchantment focused on to where anyone could have woken me."

"How do you know?" He demanded. For a moment, perhaps a bit longer, she wished she was back in the relative comfort of her own mind.

"Because the enchantment was only broken in part and I can feel it." She huffed at the confusion in his eyes. "The enchantment was intended to bring the person the affected individual needed to them; what the individual needs was loosely defined within the enchantment …" She stopped, taking a moment to try to simplify it as best as she could.

"I made my need to wake more powerful than the needs the enchantment identified. Any kiss would have woken me, but that would not completely remove the enchantment as its requirements were not met in full."

"But that would mean Snape is not your true love, or the enchantment would have been broken completely."

She smiled. "The kiss has to be willingly given Harry. It has to have intent. He was neither willing, nor intending to kiss me."

The green-eyes wizard had the decency to be shame-faced. He was completely confused by his reaction to her recovery. He had, in a moment of great mental weakness, taken action that had resulted in her waking, but had lost a great deal pride and integrity in the process. Was he jealous? He didn't know. He didn't know much of anything anymore. Not that he was sure he knew much of anything in the first place.

"Truly, Harry," Hermione said, her tone thoughtful. "The only certainty that can be concluded from the events that have unfolded is that Ronald is not my true love." Her eyes darkened.

"Nor is he actually my friend."


	12. Chapter 11

Hello to all my followers and those who have only just discovered this story's existence. All views and reviews are greatly appreciated, even the ones where the main gist was 'ewwww, not Snape!' Maybe I should have warned you that things are very rarely as simple as they appear initially with me and my writing… but where is the fun in that?

The as of right now daily updates are not a status quo, as those who have followed since the beginning are aware. I could just save what I have and update consistently for the next couple/few weeks, but I thought you all deserved to see what I have now – since I went quite a few weeks between updates.

Anyway, onward and forward as they say.

:: Disclaimer :: Not mine, no money, no sue.

Sleeping Chapter 11

There were many things Harry had dreaded and hoped against hope that he would have the option of avoiding these things. So far, in the 19 long and eventful years of his life, he had only successfully avoided one thing; which strangely resulted in more situations he dreaded and hoped to avoid.

Such as being anywhere within sight or hearing distance of one Severus Snape for the rest of either of their lives.

He really felt that could be possible, as he was sure the mostly recuperated double agent had similar hopes where he was concerned. Harry's back-up hope was that he would live through the encounter, were it to happen.

One of the things Harry dreaded, other than the potion's master, was having any sort of conversation involving one Ronald Weasley. In the week of worrying himself to the point of a mental break, he had not taken the time to consider what could happen once Hermione woke. The possibilities were endless and varied – dependent upon factors he had no control over. His mind froze a moment, thinking back over his previous thought. His gaze flicked to Hermione, whose gaze he had been avoiding since she had stated that Ron had never been her friend.

He decided, in that moment, that his idea regarding genius was likely true as his thought process since blacking out in a room with two insanely intelligent individuals had resulted in a larger vocabulary and better understanding of concepts not related to Hermione kissing people. He found it likely that his mind just refused to process the idea of Hermione and kissing for no readily apparent reason. He froze once more; thinking on that level was going to take some getting used to.

It occurred to him, once she caught his eyes and he was somehow powerless to look away, that there was so much he had not told her. Most of it would not change her opinion of their fair-weather friend and was likely to do further damage.

"What is it, Harry?" That was all it took for him to decide. Actions speak louder than words, and Ronald's decisions were his own to amend – or attempt to mend the damage done. Harry was not going to let her walk into Grimmald Place with no idea just what was waiting there.

"Well… you see, Hermione..." He told her everything, some that he had taken the time to tell when he visited her in her mind. He even told her the last conversation he had with Ron – and his confusion all around. She just listened, and processed.

For her part, she understood where Harry was coming from. She even understood what was likely to be Ronald's reasoning. She did not relish the confrontation that was to come, but nothing would be accomplished without it. There was much she needed to accomplish.

Hermione was so very thankful to have a friend in Harry, and decided she was neither insulted nor upset in his reluctance to kiss her. It would have been so very confusing for him, on top of the stress her condition placed on him, and he was never one to do something without knowing his reasoning. Apparently, he hadn't been willing to find out whether he was the 'one for her'. Sure, she had meant it as a joke. There was no way she could have predicted the impact her suggestion would have on him; not when her own preconceptions were so very biased.

When he finished, she gifted him with a smile, a hug, and a suggestion they go home. They left the way they had come, together with a hospital full of confused healers. Although… she was awake and walking this time, of course.

::…:::

Although Hermione had known Ronald had decided their relationship was over shortly after she was admitted to the hospital, she had not been prepared for all that decision entailed. Namely, walking in on a full-on snog fest straight out of the floo.

The woman was pretty enough, Hermione supposed, and landed with more grace than one would have thought possible when being thrown to the floor in what she assumed to be an embarrassed panic. She was sure it wasn't every day your ex-girlfriend pops home from the hospital, after being in a comatose state for over a month, to find you attached to another female by the mouth. The realization that you have not, as yet, actually **officially** ended the relationship would cause a bit of trouble as well. Other than those two key points… well, the coma really, Hermione was fairly certain such things happen often.

Either way, it was definitely a first for her and the ginger wizard. She was relieved to note she did not feel much of anything, faced with such a situation. Harry though, he seemed to feel something akin to murderous rage. That certainly would not do.

Hermione grabbed Harry's arm and smiled at the would-be couple. "So sorry to intrude. Had we known you were having company, we would have apparated to the front – camped reporters or no. Now, if you will excuse us." Her voice was so sickeningly sweet she was sure her teeth had rotted just a bit. She pulled Harry along, unwilling to let him spoil the moment – especially in front of company.

She heard, and ignored the curse and excuses that followed them into the hallway, releasing his arm and walking up the stairs to her room. Oh, she had a plan for how to handle Ronald, having seen him and his response to her prolonged… condition. In the mean time, she had a plan to put into action. One that had absolutely nothing to do with the youngest Weasley son.


	13. Chapter 12

Hello! This is a much smaller chapter than normal, mostly because I felt it was a better stopping point and picking up in a different chapter.

A big thank you to all my readers, reviewers, and followers. Your support means keeps me from wandering too far for too long. You task-masters you.

:: Disclaimer:: I no own, no money, no sue.

Enjoy.

Sleeping Mini Chapter 12

Severus left the hospital at a brisk pace. Enough time had passed to where, though he was recognized often, the sensationalism of having spotted the 'elusive war hero' was unlikely to sell many papers; leaving him to generally come and go unscathed. Generally.

It should have occurred to him, given the events of the day, luck – fickle under most circumstances – was unlikely to favor him so soon after abandoning him to the mentally depraved clutched of one Harry Potter. It had only been a week since news leaked that the savior of the wizarding world had fainted in the hospital room of the female part of his trio.

Being swarmed outside a medical institution was an event Severus fervently hoped he would never be forced to repeat again in his life. They came from all sides, enchanted quills and cameras equipped and in use. The shouted questions and refused to take his stunned silence for an answer. Some even had the nerve to grab his cloak as he apparated away. Fools.

Those who followed returned with a story they would spread but never publish, serving as a reminder as to why, even when the story of Master Snape's heroics came to light, none tried to ask the man directly.

::…::

Hermione cleared the dust from her room with a wave of her hand, opening the windows and circulating the air at much the same time. In the months that followed the final battle, she had never felt safe or secure knowing the loss of her wand – something so fragile – would leave her painfully vulnerable. Not until that very moment.

All of the information she had absorbed made truth with lift of her hand. She summoned parchment and quills to her writing desk and sat to pen her letters. There were a few people she Harry had told of her condition and more who had written her, with no response. With that task completed, she would then send her requests to those she felt would best help her accomplish her goals.

They were few in number.

But first… Hermione penned a quick note to Gringotts, stating her intent claim the contents of the vaults of her ancestors, undergoing any testing they may require to verify her heritage.


	14. Chapter 13

Hello, I am sure a week must seem so very long for an update after being spoiled with one a day for a time. Isn't it lucky for us all that my natural tendency to procrastinate manifests itself in the willingness to sit and write fanfiction. I could lie and say that it is my way of getting my thoughts centered or readying myself for the tasks I have yet to completed. I could lie, but the truth is very apparent. Especially after reading this…

Anyway, just to address one thing, I honestly do not consider the portrayal of Ron to be 'bashing'. He is who he is and he has never been the most rational person when faced with emotionally volatile situations. I do not consider anything I have written about him to be out of character. :: shrug ::

Once more into the fray…

Enjoy.

::Disclaimer:: No money, no own = no sue.

Sleeping: Chapter 13

A hesitant knock on her bedroom door turned Hermione's attention from her letters. She had already started sending them off in waves; Pig, Hedwig, and Bubo (Hermione's owl) likely in return route for the next set of missives piling up on her desk. She took a moment to bring herself back to the present, having been so involved in her writing she had not thought of much else.

That had been her goal, after all.

The knocking came again, lighter the second time.

She sighed, no point in dragging out the inevitable. "Come in."

The door creaked loudly as it opened – very, very, slowly. It seemed she was not the only one dreading what could be a very messy confrontation.

Granted, neither of them were cowards and they had known each other for so long… only neither of them were who they had been, even the year before, and she was even less that person after the month spent inside her head. There was no telling how either of them were going to respond to this conversation.

Ron finally stepped into the room, leaving the door wide open.

Hermione said nothing. She was not sure where to begin, truly. Sure she was known to have the occasional blow up, full of angry words and, sometimes, a fist. She had worked past the mad, which she considered unfortunate as all that was left was sad.

"'Mione…" he said, hesitantly. "I don't know where to begin…" She sighed once more.

"What do you want, Ronald?" She asked simply. Oh, such a statement could be read so many different ways.

He blinked. "To explain and apologize."

"Ronald, if any part of your explanation has the prefix 'It wasn't what it looked like', I am in no way interested."

He took a deep breath and began. "It was exactly what it looked like. I had no way of knowing when you were going to wake up, or even if you were going to wake up.

"I just… felt so guilty. It was my fault you pricked yourself and I was in a bit of shock I guess, when Harry took you out the floo." He ran his hand through his hair. "It was then I knew… once I snapped out of it, sitting at the table, with Harry heading back in and out. I don't know how long I was sitting there."

She bit down another sigh, one of frustration. "What did you know?" He had started to ramble, which was usually very revealing and never good.

"That we wouldn't work." His hands lowered, clasped in front of him before unclasping and seeking refuge in his pockets. "Look, I love you," she closed her eyes; that hurt. "I do, but either not in the right way or not enough for us to be forever.

"We are too different, and I think we want different things that we aren't able to be for each other."

She nodded, opening her eyes. She met his gaze. She had thought much the same, but his explanation did not ease her feeling of betrayal.

"Ronald…" she said after a moment, "The way I feel for you at this moment in time has little to do with you moving on while I was unconscious; it has little to do with the role you played in me falling unconscious. What upsets me, what hurts me the most, is that once again when things got hard you disappeared. Only this time, you didn't bother to come back."

Her words hung in the air between them. He flinched, hands coming up to run through his hair once again.

"Hermione, I couldn't. This, all of this, was my fault. I knew when Harry didn't come back with you right away that whatever it was that kept you sleeping was much more powerful and complex than anything Harry or I could fix. I just," He took a deep breath and looked away from her. "I couldn't go to the hospital every day and see you that way. I didn't feel I deserved to, you know?

"I should have talked to you about all this before you had to walk in on something like that. I guess I was trying to bury my guilt for knocking you unconscious by incurring guilt for something else." He sighed. "I know it doesn't make sense, and I know it will take a while for you to forgive me, for any of it… Sometimes, I can't deal with things or don't know how and just try to act like it isn't there."

She nodded. What did this mean to **her**? There was so much to think about and it all added up in a Ron sort of way. At least… she had some sort of explanation.

"Thank you for coming to speak with me." She said, watching his hands return to his pockets once more as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. "I know it must have been difficult…" She paused.

"There is just so much with this… situation and I…" She took a breath and closed her eyes.

"Ronald, you injured me, you abandoned me, and you cheated on me."She raised her hand, in case he intended to interrupt. "If it had been for a longer amount of time, if you had tried as hard as Harry to help me… I could be so much more understanding, more forgiving." She opened her eyes and ignored the burning of building tears. She would not cry in front of him.

"I appreciate you giving me your reasons, but I am not particularly inclined to forgive and forget as I did when you returned to the Forest of Dean. This is just… not something you do to someone you intend to keep as a friend." She turned back to her writing, hoping he would take it as the dismissal she had intended.

She fought her tears valiantly and sighed in relief when she heard his footsteps exit her room and her door close softly behind him, not creaking near as badly as when he entered. She waved her hand at the door, casting a spell which had no name but would give the red-haired wizard a very pronounced feeling of **not being welcome**. Hermione did not want to talk about it anymore; she did not want to be confused by it anymore.

Why couldn't he have waited? If he loved her, even just as a friend or a sister, why didn't he even **try**? One the she did know was that he had been honest; he had tried to tell her his reasons. She would just have to accept them for what they were, if she could. She doubted she could trust him, not without severe reservations. She sighed and let the tears fall.

The tawny eyed witch let it out, all of her emotions, with her tears; hoping it would be enough to purge the overwhelming volume – good and bad. She had been told a good cry makes you feel better… it seemed she would find out.

And after… after, she would finish her letters, review her plan, and do what needed to be done.


	15. Chapter 14

Good morning/afternoon/evening (depending on where you are and when you read this)! Before I leave you with the featured presentation, I was wondering what day of the week is the best day to post/update? It seems Friday morning (EST) is not preferable for most of you. :: Shrug :: I am sure I will figure something out. Until then…

:: Disclaimer :: No money, no own, no sue.

Sleeping: Chapter 14

Harry sat in the library of his inherited home, gazing pensively into the fireplace. Something was off with Hermione.

It wasn't the situation with Ron. Sure, she was upset, he knew her well enough that she didn't even try to hide it. Her reaction when confronted with it… was not normal. Then again, it could just be that he had expected her to punish her former beau like an avenging angel, punishing him (in a horribly painful manner) for any and all wrongs he had committed. It was likely what Ron had expected as well.

The bloke was lucky she had pulled him out of the room with her; otherwise Harry was sure to have attempted to avenge her for her. There was little he could do about it, now that the initial insult of just what they had flooed into had subsided. Any action he could or would take from then on would be premeditated… and likely get him into a lot of trouble. Because he would make it permanent… whatever he did.

All things considered, she had handled the situation as a mature adult. She had removed herself from the situation, adding to Ron's guilt and embarrassment at the same time. It was… brilliant, really.

That wasn't what was bothering him though – or at least, wasn't the only thing bothering him.

Now that the stress of the unknown and the guilt of feeling useless that had haunted him for over a month was gone, his mind had cleared enough for him to see a few things he had missed. For one, he had been so relieved to find her in relative peace within her own mind; he did not question the how of it.

Her awareness within herself could have been the product of a few things, within Harry's simplest logic. It could have been because she is a witch and the enchantment had not been used of a person of the wizarding population – that anyone had heard of anyway. It could be that Hermione is just **that** special, amazing, and intelligent; when faced with day upon day of 'dreams' she would identify her state and control her environment. It could even have been a combination of the two… only he doubted it.

He doubted it, because the book she had found in the chest – which had kept the attention Ron had wanted – had disappeared. Harry knew it hadn't returned to the trunk, as he had taken it with him to Saint Mungos to look through. It wasn't just lying innocently in the attic – it really was too large to overlook. So it was gone.

It was gone and there was… **something** different about Hermione. He supposed he could just ask her; he had had worse plans, thoughts, and ideas.

The opening of the door drew him from his thoughts.

It had only been a few hours since he and Hermione has arrived and Ron was already running away. Or further away, if Harry wanted to consider his lack of effort of concern for either of his 'bestfriends' welfare to be running in the first place. Maybe it was just as he had said before; avoidance was his way of self-preservation or something.

Ron jumped when he spotted Harry in the armchair, the trunk he had been levitating fell to the floor with a thump. "Oiy mate, I didn't expect you to be in here."

"So, you were just going to sneak out of an evening without saying goodbye to either of us?" Harry asked; he honestly couldn't be bothered to care too much. His emotions had been wrung dry much earlier that day really.

Ron's face flushed to match his hair. "It isn't like that, not really." He put his hands in his pockets. "'Mione and I talked a bit… and I thought it would be best to give her all the room she could need." He did not seem willing to meet Harry's eyes. "A lot of what she said, hit, you know? I spent the last few weeks ruining all of our last 8 years of friendship and can't really give a reason that makes sense to anyone but me. And even I don't understand it when I sit and think about it too much.

"You can call it running away. It isn't the first time I have, but this is more than that. I am leaving for her." He removed his hands from his pockets and levitated his trunk with a flick and swish of his wand. "I don't want to hurt or upset her anymore than I already have and I don't want her to feel like she has to stay in her room. This is her home too."

Harry didn't respond. There really wasn't much for him to say. As far as he was concerned, Ron leaving was likely for the better; Hermione did not deserve to feel as though she could not roam the house freely.

"Well, mate, I left a letter for her if she wants to read it. She cast some sort of spell that keeps me from bothering her directly." He smiled weakly. "If either of you need anything, owl me."

A few longish steps, a bit of powder, and a destination later the ginger wizard was gone. Harry sighed a bit, wondering idly if he had felt this angry and resentful in his fifth and sixth years at Hogwarts. His more adult self found it doubtful, but his soul-searching had left him more than a bit embarrassed by the way he had acted back then.

He thought it would be a few more years yet before he could use 'I was young' as an acceptable excuse. Any time he had used a phrase with a similar meaning, he had been rebuffed with a 'because you are **so** old now'. He glanced at the clock on the wall.

He was fairly sure he could get away with an hour or more of brooding and thinking, likely in alternating phases, before he would actually gather his nerves and courage and just **ask** her. Sure it was the best option, and being best-friends would likely get him a bit of leeway in the bad mood department. She should probably be made aware of the Ronlessness of the house too; just in case she was staying in her room in a bid to avoid him.

He also needed to consider whether to block the youngest Weasley boy's floo and ward access for the duration. It was likely something he should talk to the tawny haired witch about as well. Still, he had a few hours to stew.

He may as well get on it.


	16. Chapter 15

Hello my devout and new found readers! I apologize once again for the wait, it is my hope to make it up to you my posting the next couple/few chapters fairly close together to aid in the whole forgiveness process. Life has a way of interfering, as it is usually want to do.

A huge thank you to everyone who took the time to review. Honestly, the likes and reviews remind me of my readership, so if it has been over a week and nothing has been posted; feel free to send me something like 'You haven't forgotten us have you?' and I will likely attempt to make more time to write and post. So, this chapter's posting can be credited to Ruby2360 for reminding me of what I had forgotten; also, the answer to your question is to follow.

Thank you again and I hope you enjoy!

:: Disclaimer :: Not mine, no money, no sue.

**Sleeping: Chapter 15**

There was so much for her to do she had to keep reminding herself of the order In which it should be done. Her vague requests for a meeting with select persons, the permission granted for a trip to Hogwarts, the curriculum she had in the works for her school of advanced magic… So much to be done, and unfortunately as powerful and knowledgeable as she found herself to be, there was no way she could get it all done without assistance.

If she were honest with herself, and she usually was – or attempted to be – she admitted one of the first things she would have done upon returning home was to tell Harry everything. But then, stumbling out of the Floo and straight into the Ron situation she had been attempting to avoid had put a bit of a blip in that plan. She had needed to process and work through her emotions – or hide from Ron and ignore the situation for as long as possible before seeking out the dark-haired wizard. That, and she wanted to finish her cry and let the obvious signs that she had had one fade first.

She was not a pretty crier.

Bubo returned with the response from Gringott's, which indicated they would be available to meet with her at her convenience on the morrow. Hedwig followed shortly thereafter with the missives from Headmistress McGonagall and Master Snape; the first happy and relieved to see her well again, although she would like to hear the details, and the latter a simple affirmation to her request. It seemed she would have a very busy week ahead of her, providing things moved along at the pace she anticipated and those she contacted responded as expected.

Pig returned with a bit of a load, considering his small size. Ollivander had been excited by her interest in wand lore and more than willing to answer her questions, even going so far as to lend her a copy of his journal on the subject. It seemed wand making was something of a family business; a business which began to flourish around the time Hogwarts was being built. His pleasure at her interest, he hinted slightly and discretely, largely centered around his belief that she would make a talented wand mistress and he had long been looking for an apprentice with both intelligence and aptitude. She took this to mean he did not have any heirs with such.

Hermione sighed wistfully; wand making and wand lore were highly secretive and guarded subjects. She had done a bit of research on it shortly after learning she was a witch and the idea that the wand chose the user was wondrous and fascinating – it was also the extent of the general knowledge she could find anywhere on the subject. The tawny-eyed witch found it likely Ollivander was aware there had been a time before wand usage was prevalent and thought it as likely most of the information surrounding the development of wand lore to be lacking.

Although history is written by the victor, even those who would like their accomplishments to survive the ages would not want circumstances to detract from the outcome. If society were to stop and focus, even for a moment, on the atrocities that had come before in order to enable the creation and refinement of technology and knowledge to date, the disgust would be palpable. Such means never justify the ends.

She twirled one of her many voluminous and errant curls around a finger as she thought. Logically, it was the actions of the founders that had largely influenced the many and varied changes to wizarding world. They had utilized the best and brightest of their age to assist in the building of what would become a place of learning for generations to come, had disabled the best and brightest of their age in order to bring the use of a more convenient – if less powerful – tool to train the generations to come in the use of, instituted the statute of secrecy after having, determined what would and would not be taught to the generations to follow, and allow the knowledge as to the magical manifestation within muggle-borns to be lost. It seemed the founders and their predecessors who had enacted the plan long before had, in effect, enable the pure-blood bigotry to become prevalent and thus the horrible and continued persecution of certain classes of magic persons and things as well as the rise of the various dark-lords in the time since.

A majority of her plan centered around her certainty in the pure-bloods' need to keep journals, chronicles, and grimiores to pass their knowledge and understanding down their family line – to give them an added advantage over the 'muggle-born' population that grows larger each year. She had heard talk of such things throughout her years of schooling among those with a long and noted wizarding line. It was her ancestor's similar need that had brought her to this moment and it was that shared, human, need that would enable her to do as she saw fit in the near future.

Hermione released her hair and summoned her grimoire to her hand. She had a lot to talk to Harry about. She laughed a bit at the nerves she could feel in her stomach, wondering idly if this was how he had felt every time he had something new and increasingly more complicated and potentially dangerous to tell them in times past. She knew it would be a lot to explain and that he was likely to be more than a little apprehensive as such things rarely came without a price or consequence. He had also been much more volatile since the final battle…

She knew he would support her decisions and trust her judgement. It was just very likely he would flip out a bit once she started to explain… She would have to start at the beginning; give him the background Maleficent had given her, show him the grimoire, then allow Gringott's to verify her relation to those in the book. She thought it best to let him know she had a plan she would be enacting and that she would explain in depth after she had access to her ancestral vaults.

She stood from her desk, waving her hand to tidy up. The owls had left the remnants of their treats behind and though Crookshanks would likely not mind cleaning it up himself, she did not want to look at the bits of gore. What she had been thinking when she had started to keep chicken liver in her room for such occasions, she was not sure. The owls did love it though…

She sighed and left the room, intent on finding her friend. There was so much to be done.


End file.
